The more they took from each other, it seemed, the more they wanted. Each new act of wantonness opened up the possibility of more, an endless vista of sensual pleasures. She wanted him in her, her in him. While they were locked together like this, nothing else mattered.
His hands travelled hungrily over her upper body, and when they found her breasts she did nothing to repel them. Instead she let him cup her sweater-clad curves, enjoying the slight but delicious friction of the soft wool against her nipples.
She, for her part, tried to slip her hands inside his T-shirt, loving the flat firm warmth of what she found inside. His muscles moved against her palm and she felt them directing their efforts towards her, towards getting her and having her.
His denim-covered knee slid up between her thighs and nudged them apart.
They were panting now, heavy with lust and beginning to sweat.
Snogging like a pair of teenagers at the school disco. He’ll give me a love bite next. Oh, but how could I have forgotten how good it feels?
And now a hand inside her jumper, reaching for her bra, pulling down the cup on one side. Her nipple seemed to bloom against his touch, engorging itself to fill the space between his finger and thumb. Her knickers were freshly soaked, her sex alive and vibrating with sensation.
Her phone rang.
‘Leave it,’ gasped Leonardo.
But the years had conditioned Jenna to be on alert for every call, because the next call could change the game again. Reflexively, she slid out from underneath Leonardo and snatched up her phone in shaking fingers.
It was Lawrence Harville.
‘Jenna, hi, I was just passing. Wondered if you’d fancy a drink?’
‘Just passing? Where are you?’
‘I’m parked at the end of your street. What do you say? There’s a decent place about five minutes walk from the house. Nothing fancy, but it’s snug and serves good beer, with minimal tracksuited rowdies.’
She glanced over at Leonardo. Her tracksuited rowdy, albeit minus the tracksuit this evening.
He looked immortally pissed off.
Immortally pissed off and at least half a dozen years younger than her.
This was madness. She should get her wits together and act her age. Her head was all over the place, what with the divorce and the sabbatical. Now was hardly the time to go leaping into intense flings with artistic fugitives from the wrong side of the tracks.
But I want to, whispered her disloyal desires.
Well, you can’t, retorted what she thought of as her rationality.
‘I don’t know,’ she said to Lawrence. ‘I’ve had a takeaway curry and it’s made me rather sleepy.’
‘Well, how about I come in for a snifter? Then you don’t have to make an effort.’
‘No, no.’ God, no. Looking at Leonardo with an apologetic expression she hoped might be interpreted as ‘Sorry, business, can’t get out of it’, she spoke into the phone. ‘It’s fine. I’ll just get my bag and put on a bit of lippy and I’ll be with you.’
‘Excellent! Ciao.’
‘Hot date?’ enquired Leonardo with hostile sarcasm, as she took out her mirror compact and began applying lipstick.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go out. I won’t be long. You might as well go up to bed.’
‘Up to my sleeping bag in the attic, out of your way.’
She tried to sound soothing. ‘It’s not forever. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …’
‘Right. Of course. Moment of madness, eh?’
He looked as if he might smoulder into a pile of ashes.